


Cocked

by ifinkufreaky



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, F/M, Gun Kink, Improvised Sex Toys, Non-Monogamy, One Night Stands, Verbal Humiliation, all the range instructors and eagle scouts are crying right now, irresponsible gun handling, that's not a sex toy, you want to put that where?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 03:50:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12522316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifinkufreaky/pseuds/ifinkufreaky
Summary: Set in the world of @livebynight's "Keep Your Silence." Go read that first if you haven't already. In this humble little tribute metafanfiction, the Reader is Lisbet's friend who has been invited to go out on the town with all the boys. She has a bad boy fetish and Ubbe is all too happy to play into it. (In fact, it becomes pretty clear that he’s the one with the fetish)





	Cocked

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Keep Your Silence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10732503) by [livebynight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livebynight/pseuds/livebynight). 



Everyone knows who the Lothbrok’s are. No one knows anything for sure, but everyone is sure they know _something._ The family is notorious, and definitely into some deep criminal shit.

And the brothers are all fine as hell too. That keeps them on everyone’s minds, too. But they hold themselves apart when they’re out, always seem so unapproachable. Which is why you jump up and down in your kitchen when you see the texts from Lisbet.

_Want to go out to the clubs tonight?_

_Ivar’s brothers have been begging me to bring some of my friends around, and I know you like to dance._

You and Lisbet had barely seen each other this term, not since classes had gotten so serious. And not since she had started dating the infamous Ivar Lothbrok. Any time you tried to ask what it was like to date a _gangster,_ she got really vague, did not seem to appreciate you bringing up the topic, much less pressing for any details.

But tonight, you have the perfect chance. Not only to see what her life is like with Ivar, but also to satisfy some of your curiosity about his mysterious brothers.

Standing in the kitchen of the Lothbrok Estate is a surreal experience. You had been invited there to pre-game a little before heading out, and now you find yourself struggling not to look like a slack-jawed fool as you take in the posh surroundings. You nurse your glass of wine and stay close to Lisbet, struggling just to follow conversations based heavily upon the decades of shared history the four brothers use to tease and entertain each other. And on top of that, they’re all just so _beautiful._ Amazing genes in this family. Right now you’re just happy to stare at each of their faces and try not to look too star-struck.

“Is anyone else coming?” you whisper to Lisbet. Sigurd had been trying to draw you into conversation, but Lis’ doesn’t seem to like him very much, which kind of puts a damper on his efforts. Ivar is on her other side, face locked into what seems to be his permanent scowl. Honestly, you had been wondering why he is even coming out tonight. Perhaps it’s just to keep an eye on his girl around his brothers. Hvitserk, especially, seems like a completely unrepentant flirt.

Lisbet frowns a little at your question, looking almost apologetically at her dark cloud of a boyfriend. “I asked some of the other girls, but no one else said they were free.”

It had been an intimidating offer, to go out on the town with all four of the Lothbrok brothers. Maybe the rest of your clique just weren’t up for that kind of anxiety. But you have always been the type to see these sorts of things as more exciting than nerve-wracking. “Their loss,” you say, shrugging and downing the rest of your drink.

The eldest brother, Ubbe, raises his cup in a silent cheers to your gesture and then slams the rest of his own drink. “Should we get going, then? I’ll drive.” He is quieter than the rest of his brothers, watching and listening carefully as they speak. He has a nice voice, you think to yourself, deep and rich, and with that authoritative tone you kind of expect from an older brother.

“Just call an Uber,” Hvitserk counters. “Let’s get hammered tonight.”

Ivar scowls even more deeply, though you hadn’t quite thought that possible. “Absolutely not. Cris can drive us.”

Ubbe rolls his eyes at him. “Ivar, we’re not keeping Cris up until four in the morning. Anyway I want to drive. I just put a new sound system in the Range Rover, and it’s fucking sweet.”

“Will we all even fit?” Lisbet asks skeptically.

Ubbe shrugs. “We’ll make it work.”

***

‘Making it work’ turned out to mean your ass jammed onto the padded armrest between the two front seats, trying to navigate between the choice of either leaning too much against Ubbe and possibly impairing his ability to drive, or falling into Hvitserk’s lap. You’re definitely considering doing exactly that a little later on in the night, but you’re trying to behave like a decent human being while you’re still mostly sober.

They tried to let you and Lisbet sit together with Ivar in the back at first, but soon realized that three full-grown men would not fit across the front. Ever the team player, you had volunteered to sit bitch on the center console, and Hvitserk had rushed back in to take the seat beside you with a victorious grin.

“Are you comfortable, Ivar?” Ubbe asks as he peers through his rearview mirror. You can’t quite tell if he’s genuinely concerned or just teasing him.

“Oh, just splendid,” Ivar replies, too loud, definitely sarcastic. “I am having fun already.” Ubbe turns up the stereo until you can feel the bass on the old Ludacris track thumping in all your bones, then peels out of the garage as Ivar groans even louder than the music.

The first bar isn’t far away, but your party of six doesn’t last there very long, either. Hvitserk and Sigurd seem to suffer from terminal cases of FOMO (fear of missing out) and turn out not to be able to sit through more than one drink at any one location without beginning a discussion on what other hotspot might be better tonight. The smile plastered across Ivar’s face grows more and more brittle with every change of scenery, though Ubbe seems to be used to this routine, and Lisbet declares that she is enjoying “getting a tour.”

And so you are constantly piling back into the car with the rowdy boys, on to the next great idea, everyone ignoring Ivar’s foul mood or tiptoeing around it as best they can. The annoyance of all the traveling is becoming increasingly worth it to you, however, because Hvitserk and Sigurd have definitely begun jostling each other for your attention, and for the right to sit next to you in the front seat. Perhaps it’s because you are the only single girl around, but you like to think there is some genuine attraction brewing as they rush to get a drink in your hand at each new club, or pull you out to the dance floor while finding any excuse to grind up on you.

You are especially grateful for the attention because your friend Lisbet seems entirely content to sit off to the side wherever Ivar has found himself a comfortable spot, and sip strong drinks with him until she gets to that quiet kind of drunk that makes her extra immovable. Her conversation is pleasant as you two catch up, but it’s not the kind of _excitement_ you’ve been craving tonight. “If you want to dance, go dance,” Lisbet finally says to you. “Just… be careful.”

“Of who?”

She pauses, pressing her lips together as she thinks about it. “Any of them.”

***

Ubbe insists on strict control of the radio as you all drive from place to place, and it turns out that he is very partial to 90’s gangsta rap. You’re not judging him, the music is very cool, but you’re also trying to remember exactly how much older than you all he really is. That’s gotta be before his time; maybe their half-brother Bjorn got him into it.

You’re perched on the padded console in Ubbe’s car again, dancing in your seat and singing along with whatever words you recall to “Damn It Feels Good To Be a Gangsta” when suddenly it hits you; you’re in a car full of guys that these songs are actually about. Sort of. As close as you’ll ever get, at least. Ubbe seems nice, Ivar’s an adorable grouch, Hvitserk and Sigurd have been hilariously ridiculous all night, but on other evenings these boys probably spend their time breaking fingers, perpetrating drive-by shootings, and sending snitches to “sleep with the fishes.”

You have to admit, the thought is scary but more than a little thrilling. Ubbe swerves at something and as you bounce against his arm you wonder if there are any bulletholes in this car. It’s clear Ivar is the brains but you try to decide what the other brothers specialize in, what they’re like when they’re “doing business.” Which one is the enforcer? Probably Hvitserk. He seems like he could do a really intimidating crazy face. Though Ubbe has an air of “you’d better not fuck with me” about him, too…

The third time the car rocks and you almost fall into Ubbe’s lap you realize he’s doing it on purpose, especially when he snakes his hand around your waist “to steady you” but then squeezes just a little too tightly, low on your hip. You’re distracted from giving him any kind of response by Hvitserk on your other side, who uses the excuse to pull you almost completely into his lap “just to keep you safe.”

This is heaven, you decide. Three gorgeous brothers now, all vying for your affections. You can’t even decide which one’s the hottest. And just as you’re getting comfortable pressed up in Hvitsterk’s arms, Ubbe is parking the car across the street from the next club.

“Hey.” Ubbe catches your hand with a coaxing little growl when you go to slide out of the car after Hvitserk does. His eyes flash when you turn back to him, freezing with one bare leg already sticking out into the cold night air. “Stay a minute.” He’s shaking a cigarette out of the pack with one hand, giving your wrist a little squeeze with the other. “Can’t smoke inside this club. Keep me company?”

Your heart is already racing. There was barely a question mark at the end of that statement. Hvitserk and Sigurd may have been competing _hard_ for your attention all night, but Ubbe’s unassuming calm asserts some kind of gravitational pull on you. Something about the way he gripped the steering wheel as he drove you all from bar to bar, the quiet way he just watched you while his younger brothers tried so furiously to impress. Three times that night, you had seen him say something low in the ear of bouncers and bartenders, and they practically fell all over themselves to give you anything you wanted. The weight of the Lothbrok name, you suppose. Lisbet really does have it fucking lucky.

You nod to the impassive eldest brother and lean back into the passenger seat. It’s a lot roomier now that you’re not sharing it with Hvitserk. Everyone else had gone running for the building; it was only when you slammed the car door shut that the others realized you weren’t with them. Hvitserk catches your eye through the window, shooting you an exaggerated confused face. You try to wave him to go on in without you, but he bounces back over to the SUV anyway.

You’re distracted for a second watching Ubbe cup his hand around his cigarette to light it, admiring the splay of his fingers and the way he closes his eyes as he takes his first drag. Hvitserk interrupts with a loud knock on the window. Ubbe smirks a little as you turn to find the button that rolls the window down.

“What are you doing?” Hvitserk asks, breath steaming in the cold air as he tries to pull you away solely with the powers of his sleepy, drunken eyes.

“Having a cigarette before we go in,” you explain, though you weren’t planning on asking Ubbe for one.

Hvitserk’s smile is weak, but he pats at his coat for his own pack and looks toward the back seat. “Good idea.”

Ubbe leans into your space suddenly, shoulder brushing your upper chest to get his face in view of the window on your side. “You’re not invited,” he says curtly to his brother, then holds down his own control button until the pane of glass slides all the way shut on Hvitserk’s argumentative face.

You hear him calling your name, muffled through the door. Ubbe turns his grinning face toward yours, still hanging over your side of the car. He pauses for a second and you wonder if he’s going to try and kiss you right there while his brother watches. He exhales after a beat and leans back into the driver’s seat, though he does throw his arm over the back of yours after flipping the stereo volume up high enough to drown out further interruption from the defeated Hvitserk.

You still hadn’t decided which of the brothers you were interested in going home with, if indeed it was going to be any of them. Lisbet had assured you that there were plenty of guest rooms back at the estate if you drank too much to get yourself home by the end of the night. You hadn’t even thought Ubbe was competing to be one of your choices, but that’s certainly what this moment is starting to feel like.

He takes another drag off his cigarette, staring forward out the windshield at the other parked cars. You’re in a loading zone just across the street from the club, but Ubbe had assured you that no one would dare tow his car in this town.

The beat coming out of the speakers shifts before either of you think of anything to say. “I love this song,” you blurt out, its sultry vibe instantly helping you feel more comfortable, more confident.

Ubbe turns with a twinkle in his eyes. “You like to dance,” he comments.

You nod, bobbing a little in your seat to the beat. He had been watching you on the dance floor with Hvitserk and Sigurd all night, but had not set foot out there himself. “You don’t like dancing?”

Ubbe gives you the strangest sort of smile. “I like it when a girl dances,” he teases. “I like watching _you_ dance.” He reaches down and slides his seat as far back from the steering wheel as it can go, reclines it back a touch farther than how he drives. “Why don’t you climb up here and dance for me.”

He’s fucking serious. Part of you is appalled that he thinks such a chauvinistic power play would even _work,_ but you are even more appalled to realize that yes, you actually _do_ want to give Ubbe a lapdance right now. The way he’s watched you all night like a stalking wolf has left you itching to see what it would feel like to put yourself right inside his jaws.

Your already-short skirt rides up even higher as you straddle Ubbe’s legs, settling each of your knees into the seat on either side of his hips. The car is roomy enough that you fit without bumping anything, though you find the ceiling is too low for you to sit up completely straight. You brace your arms on the top edge of his seat-back, too shy to hold onto his shoulders for balance yet. His smile is intimate and full of promise as you begin to sway to the music, your faces only a few inches apart now.

You’re nervous but it also feels incredibly erotic to be hovering over Ubbe Lothbrok like this, your whole body on display to him and easy to access should he decide to start touching. So far he’s following strip club rules, keeping his hands to himself as he sucks on his cig and drinks in the sight of your bouncing, undulating movements.

You really do like this song. It helps your nerves to close your eyes and just get into it. You find yourself playing with all of your favorite dance moves, then start trying out the body rolls and booty pops you’ve only seen other people do before.

Ubbe leans forward unexpectedly and your eyes fly open. He’s reaching past you to crack the window open, dying cigarette dangling from his lip. He takes one last drag and then pops it out the window as the cold air makes you shiver.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says as he closes it quickly, then leans back and sets both his hands softly on your thighs, just above your knees. “You look so fucking hot.”

His palms burn against your skin. You’re not sure if you’re really that cold or if your attraction to him has just made you hyper-aware of his touch. He watches your face carefully before doing anything else, making sure that you’re okay with him touching you. The song changes to something slower, and you resist the fleeting urge to grind your hips against his in tune to the sensual beat. You’re still not sure what he has in mind. He is married, after all. He probably just wants a little tease, a taste of the old life before he lets you go back to humping his brothers.

The thought somehow only turns you on more, makes you feel especially tempting and sexy, especially when those big hands start sliding up your thighs. Suddenly you want to give this bad boy a really good show before he has to go back home to his wife. You slide your hands up your own body, tugging your shirt up to flash your stomach for a moment, flipping your hair and even daring to caress your own breast.

Ubbe’s eyes narrow and he grunts like the kind of barbaric Viking his family claims descent from. “Careful, girl,” he warns with a wicked smile. “Are you sure that you want to tempt me like that?”

You let loose a giggle that you hope sounds sultry, then lean your arms on his seat back again, settling your weight until your mouth is hovering close over his. You want to run your lips all over the sharp planes of his handsome face, but you don’t know if that would be okay, how far he wants this to go. “You think I’m tempting?” you ask instead, continuing to sway to the music above him.

His hands run up your thighs again, racing to the hem of the skirt that is now only barely covering your crotch, looping his thumbs underneath and playing with the sensitive skin just outside your panty line. “I don’t know how I’ve kept my hands off of you for this long,” he replies, his voice dark and a little strained. One hand comes up to wrap around the back of your neck, the other sliding between your legs boldly to stroke fingertips along the center of the silky fabric covering your sex.

He’s tugging your face down toward your mouth when you blurt, “Aren’t you married?”

Ubbe sighs against your lips, then lets you sit up, removing his hands and settling them more demurely around your waist instead. He looks you in the eyes very seriously. “We have an open marriage,” he explains. There is no trace of shame in his voice. “We like to be discreet about it. For the sake of appearances.” You find yourself nodding. “Can you be discreet?”

“Of course,” you say. He smiles, his hands coaxing you to start dancing again. You bust out a few more good moves while you process the information. “So you don’t wanna be my boyfriend,” you say after a moment.

“I don’t want to be your boyfriend,” Ubbe repeats with a smile. He leans up in his seat a little. “But I don’t think you came out tonight looking to find a boyfriend.”

“You don’t?” you say, amused at his presumption.

Ubbe shakes his head no, pulling you closer. “I think you came out tonight to meet your friend’s big, bad, gangster boyfriend,” he accuses against your ear, “and to fuck one of his big, bad, gangster brothers.” His warm hand finds your center again, taking advantage of the spread of your legs above him. “And I can assure you, out of all the Lothbroks, I am the biggest, and the baddest.”

When you don’t deny his words, Ubbe slides your panties to the side and pushes one big finger directly inside of you.

“I see what’s been turning you on tonight,” he continues, curling his finger in lazy circles as you gasp and hum in pleasure. “I see you watching me throw my weight around. I see how you’ve been looking at my Glock.”

Ubbe has a pistol strapped in a shoulder holster under his left arm, and he has been quite careless about flashing it under his jacket all night. Though maybe “careless” wasn’t actually the right word. Maybe he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Don’t stop dancing,” he instructs softly. “I want you to fuck yourself on my fingers.” He pulls back just to slide a second one in alongside the first, then follows your lead as you grind yourself slowly over him. “You are so fucking hot, you nasty girl,” he murmurs, voice growing thick with his own arousal. “Do you want to be my little slut tonight?”

You moan and nod, the slight shame of where this seems to be heading only making this whole thing hotter. The feel of his thick fingers stretching you already makes you want to whimper and sob.

“That’s it, baby. Take your shirt off for me.” He’s tugging insistently at the hem one-handed, trying unsuccessfully to free it from between your bodies the way that you’re bent over him in the tight space of his car. You look nervously around for a second, but the windows are tinted and also thoroughly fogged by this point. Privacy achieved.

You whip your top off and toss it onto the passenger seat, then close your eyes and let him get an eyeful of your lacy bra as you grind yourself above him. You are too busy enjoying the press of his fingers between your legs to feel very self-conscious anymore.

Ubbe shifts underneath you, though he does not break the rhythm of his right hand, pressing the heel of it up into you so that you can grind your clit as well. You wonder if he’s pulling his cock out. At first you are too caught up in your own bliss to even care, but then there’s a snap that doesn’t sound like the fly of any kind of trousers you’ve ever seen.

When your eyes fly open, you see that Ubbe has exposed the pistol under his arm, and somewhat awkwardly used his left hand to unsnap the guard holding it in place. “Do you want to touch it, baby?”

You stop dancing but Ubbe does not stop the slow pumping of his fingers inside of you. A thrill of a different kind runs through you as you contemplate his offer, mingling deliciously with the arousal already swirling through your core. You reach down and caress the black metal with one fingertip.

It’s cooler than you expected, smooth at the edges but bumpy on the grip. “Take it out,” Ubbe coaxes, slowing his fingers but not withdrawing.

“I’ve never touched one before,” you say softly, then giggle as you hear what you just said, sounding like a virgin in a bad porno movie.

“Safety’s on, nothing to worry about,” Ubbe says, reaching up to brush your hair from your eyes as he watches you contemplate his piece.

You smile nervously at him, still hesitating.

“Here,” he says, slipping his right hand out of your cunt so he can reach across and draw the weapon in one practiced movement, holding it up between your faces with the barrel toward the sky. “See that switch?” he asks, wiggling his thumb to indicate a square little button on the side facing you. “Safety’s on. It can’t shoot.”

“Is it loaded?” you ask, squirming a little against him now, your distracted body already missing his touch.

Ubbe scoffs at your question. “Of course.” He pushes it toward your hands. “Do you want to hold it?”

You’re surprised at how nervous the thing is making you, even though you’ve been lusting over the very idea of a man so brazenly displaying his gun all night. Your hands don’t quite close around it as Ubbe urges you to take it, and the side of the barrel ends up pressing cold against your chest.

You let out a little gasp, body reacting unexpectedly to the contact with that deadly weapon. Ubbe’s eyes flash wickedly as he notices your reaction too. “Oh, _baby,_ ” he moans, then slides it across your skin a little more.

You feel your nipples harden instantly, all of your flesh prickling under the strange, threatening caress of cold metal.

“You nasty fucking slut,” Ubbe teases, pupils blowing wide as he watches you react to his gun like it’s some kind of exotic sex toy. “You like that? Wanna feel my Glock pressing against you?” He turns the barrel until it’s pointing into the center of your chest, the pressure firm and unwavering against the flat bone between your breasts.

It’s hard to breathe. But not in an entirely bad way. Adrenaline and endorphins are flooding your veins in equal measure, getting you ready to fly out of this car or fuck this man into oblivion. Your choice.

Another little moan escapes you, and you press your hips toward the guy holding the gun to your chest, blatantly offering yourself to him. His eyes flash like he’s about to toss everything out the window and take you now, but he doesn’t. Instead he starts sliding the dull grey weapon down, the sight of it contrasting prettily with the wine-colored lace of your bra. He tilts it to the side, running the cold metal down the swell of one breast. You can see that his finger is off the trigger but he still holds the weapon like he knows exactly how to use it, like it’s his favorite thing to have in his hand. He continues to smooth the side of the barrel down your stomach, heading toward your crotch. “Will you ride it for me?” Ubbe asks, voice gone strange and raspy with need.

It’s hard to judge the man’s kinks when you find that you seem to share them. When you give him an affirmative moan Ubbe slips the gun up under your skirt, pressing the flat top of it against your satin-covered sex. He gives just enough pressure to stimulate your clit, and you groan as you rock yourself softly against it.

“That’s right, nasty girl,” Ubbe whispers, other hand burying itself in the hair at the nape of your neck. “Show me how bad you want a fucking gangster like me.” He pulls your head down to kiss you, the first time your lips have met all night. His beard is soft and his tongue is skillful as he enters your mouth almost immediately. You cling to his shoulders as he teases you with his mouth and rocks his pistol against your cunt. It’s clumsy but just the thought of what you’re doing is making you soaking wet. “Will you fuck it for me?” he asks, holding you close and pressing open-mouthed kisses up and down your jaw.

You pause. Would that even feel good?

“Just a little. Just the tip,” he moans against your cheek, feeling your hesitation. “ _Please,_ baby.”

He’s so into it that you find yourself carried along past your doubts, especially when his left hand slides down over your ass, diving down to push your panties aside and test your slick with one fingertip.

“You’re so wet, you bad girl. It’s gonna feel so good.”

You’re crazy. How drunk are you anyway? “Yes. Do it,” you say, nose pressed into his bearded cheek, inhaling the tantalizing musk of him. “Slowly.”

“Of course,” he reassures, readying you with a slowly circling finger as he lifts the gun away from your clit. A moment later you feel the barrel tapping softly against your face. “Suck on it, baby,” he coaxes. “Get that tip lubed up.” He lets you pull away from his face and you see the half-crazed light that only a true fetish can bring to a man’s eyes.

Definitely crazy. You lick your lips and then wrap your mouth around the barrel of Ubbe’s gun like it’s a fucking lollypop. You stare at him the whole time, feeling a thrill of power at the way his eyes seem to melt at the sight of you sucking on his weapon.

“Such a good girl,” he sighs. “You gonna take all of that for me?”

There’s a little bump at the top; you’re pretty sure it’s called the ‘sight.’ You know that part will hurt if Ubbe gets overeager, actually tries to start fucking you with the damned thing. You’re going to have to decide if you can trust him. “You won’t hurt me?” you coo at him.

Ubbe attempts a reassuring smile, though he’s so blown out with lust that it looks fairly insane. “Of course not, baby,” he sighs. “I’m just gonna put it in a little bit. Not too far, not too fast.” His grin turns wicked as he starts to move the gun under your skirt again. “I want your pussy juice all over my pistol,” he growls, pulling your panties to the side again. “I want to smell it on there tomorrow.”

You can’t help but jump a little at the first contact. It’s still cold, and so solid, so square. He slides the tip of the Glock along your pussy lips, leading with the corner that doesn’t have the sight on it, mindful of your comfort. He twists and works the barrel up to your entrance, humming his pleasure in your ear as he does so. He lets go of your panties with his left hand, reaches between your bodies to scramble with your skirt, pulling it out of the way so that he can get a good look at what exactly he’s doing to you.

You look down too, fascinated and aroused in equal measure, tipping your body back to give a better angle. The dull grey metal is nestled between your lips now, rocking in little circles against your fully-lubricated opening. “It looks so fucking hot to see that thing between your legs,” Ubbe moans, and he’s saying exactly what you are thinking too. “I want you to come on it.”

His left hand moves down to rub your clit as he grinds the pistol-tip against you with his right. It’s clumsy and his eagerness is still making you a little nervous. Your hands rush down, one to control the movement of the gun and the other to push his fingers aside and to take over pleasuring your clit yourself.

“Fuck, yes, baby,” Ubbe breathes, evidently loving to see you take over your own pleasure. “Make yourself come for me.”

It’s going to be easy this time, you can tell that immediately. Especially when Ubbe uses his newly-freed hand to pop your tits out of your bra, alternates between sucking your nipples and keeping up his steady stream of dirty talk as he stares down at what he’s doing to your cunt.

“That’s right, you nasty girl, you take that fucking piece. What the fuck are you even letting me do to you right now, you filthy fucking slut.” The closer you get the harder he’s pressing it into you; by the time you’re about to come you’re using most of your strength just to stop him from invading your flesh any further than you feel safe with. You bite down and scream through your teeth as your orgasm hits you, a blinding flood of white-hot pleasure that leaves you shaking, every muscle in your body cramping up and fighting. When it’s finally over you take a gasping breath and Ubbe is crushing your collapsing self into his chest with his free hand, whispering soft, approving things as he slides the pistol back into its holster. You can feel his erection grinding softy against your inner thigh but he doesn’t make you move yet, just strokes your head and back until you stop trembling.

“You did so good baby. Now get out of the car.”

“Excuse me?” you screech into his chest, ready to be beyond offended that Ubbe might quite literally toss you to the curb after that mind-blowing experience.

“I want to fuck you, and I want more room than this.”

“We’re on the street, are you fucking serious?”

Ubbe catches your eye, face indeed deadly serious. “I do whatever the fuck I want in this town. If I want to bend you over the hood of my car right in front of that club, not a single person is gonna say shit.”

You shiver, pussy already clenching, eager for a deeper penetration than you’ve been able to get so far. “Okay,” you hear yourself whisper.

Ubbe chuckles darkly and opens the car door. As the cold air seeps in and hits your breasts you remember that you’re half-naked and dive for your shirt. “What are you doing?” he grunts.

“I’m not going out there half-dressed,” you sniff.

“Okay, but I’m probably going to take it off of you again in a minute,” Ubbe threatens with a smile.

“Just because I let you fuck me with your fucking gun, doesn’t mean I don’t have some sense of modesty,” you joke back, though you’re already almost whimpering at the idea of continuing to let Ubbe Lothbrok do whatever the fuck he wants to you.

Your legs don’t work as well as you expected as you climb off his lap and step onto the curb in your five inch heels. It’s got to be almost below freezing out here, though your blood is running so hot it’s not really bothering you. The street is dark, and you don’t see anyone on it. This is an industrial district, and none of the other buildings appear to be occupied other than the nightclub across the street. Maybe you two can get away with this.

Ubbe’s not getting out of the car. You start rubbing your arms against the cold and look down to see what he’s doing. You’re momentarily stunned by the sight of his cock in his hand, bigger than average just as promised and standing tall and proud. He’s fiddling with a condom in the other hand, and you just stand and watch in delicious anticipation as Ubbe rolls it carefully over himself, just as calm and comfortable as if you two were in his bedroom and not standing out in the street in the middle of the night.

He holds his unbuttoned pants up with one hand as he climbs out of the car. His large body is moving to cover yours almost immediately, embracing you, warming you, and pressing you back off the curb. You jump a little as the back of your thighs hit the hood of his car, but then Ubbe is kissing you again and you find you don’t quite mind the cold steel against your skin.

Just as he promised, Ubbe is soon flipping your shirt up again to caress your breasts, popping them out of the cups to tease at your nipples until you’re panting into his mouth. “Turn around and lean over the front of the car,” he instructs, then nips at your ear when you don’t immediately comply. “Come on, nasty girl, you know you want me to fuck you right here. Feel my big, fat cock railing into you right where anyone might see.”

He’s got you there. You turn around with an anticipating little grin and start to stretch your body over the hood of the car.

Now you’re facing the door to the club. You figure that if it opens you guys can just duck or something. Still, you reach up self-consciously to slide your shirt back down over your tits.

Ubbe puts one hand down on the hood next to yours, uses the other to slide your skirt up off your ass. Wordlessly, he kicks your legs a little wider apart, hot breath in your ear. His fingers curl around the top of your panties and then he’s ripping them down to your knees. A moment later you feel his blunt head, covered in latex, bumping at your slit.

“You’re gonna get what you deserve now, bad girl,” he growls, and presses himself inside.

You swallow a squealing sort of moan as Ubbe works his way in, coaxing you not very delicately to accommodate his impressive girth. He sighs in satisfaction once he’s fully sheathed, giving you one extra bounce to press your body more firmly against the car. His hands move to grip your hips and then he starts pistoning into you with very little warning.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, freaky girl.” His voice is only a little strained with the effort he’s expending. You angle your hips up to meet him a little better, take him just how you like it, and he groans and gives your ass a little slap. “Big bad fucking gangster, I’m gonna fuck you wherever I want, however I want.” He pauses to pull your shirt up again, kneading your tits a few more times before pressing your exposed chest flush against the hood of his car, giving himself the leverage to fuck into you even harder. It’s rough but it’s so satisfying, his body pressing you down, his cock filling you almost to your limit. You already know this is going to be one of your favorite memories, even as you are equally sure you’re never going to hook up with this guy again. Why bother? There’s no way you could ever recreate this kind of insanity on a second round.

It’s just too good. The relentless slide of Ubbe’s cock driving into you is bringing you fast toward a second climax, and you’re not sure how you’re going to keep yourself from screaming.

“Say my name,” Ubbe commands between panting breaths.

Fuck. And here you were trying to be quiet. “Ubbe,” you moan for him, first syllable coming out rough and hard under the slam of his body.

“Again,” he growls, picking up his already punishing pace.

“Ubbe!” you cry, second syllable turning into kind of a squeal as he adjusts his angle and hits something deep and delicious inside you.

“Who’s fucking you?”

You curl your face into the side of your own arm, trying to muffle your voice as well as give yourself a little comfort as you feel your orgasm rising like a tidal wave. “Ubbe fucking Lothbrok,” you groan, one word on every one of his merciless thrusts, and you’re gone, that wave of ecstasy crashing over you until you go loose and helpless beneath him.

Ubbe’s still fucking you like a rag doll, and it’s not until you start wondering how much more you want to take of this that his rhythm falters and he makes a deep, primal sound in the back of his throat. “Fuuuck” he whispers in appreciation after he finishes, then sags down over you on his elbows, the weight of his hips pinning you to the car. You stay like that for a minute, catching your breaths and entirely grateful that the nightclub’s door still has not opened.

“Cigarette?” Ubbe suggests, voice low and rumbly now. He straightens when you nod, careful to pull himself out of you without losing the condom. “Let's get back in the car.”

He’s got his pants back on by the time you’ve straightened your own clothes and walked around to plop into the passenger seat. The lighter flares in his hand, and after one decisive puff to make sure it catches he offer the smoke to you.

There’s a thread of sternness behind his contented eyes when you meet his gaze and take it. “Goes without saying, but: nothing happened here just now.”

You smile and nod, trying to assure him that you’re cool with everything. “Is this the part where you tell me you’ll put the hurt on me and my family if I ever tell anyone what you did?” you tease.

“Yes,” Ubbe says simply, not a trace of jest in his own face.

“Oh.” You look down at the smoke in your hand and try to suppress a shiver.

“Hey.” He waits until you look at him again. “You were really fucking good, baby. Thank you. That was so hot.”

You appreciate the effort he’s making, to not ruin it with an ugly ending. “It was, wasn’t it,” you sigh as you sit back and take a deep drag off the cigarette, covering the awkwardness with a cocky tone of your own. “They’re gonna start to wonder what we’ve been doing, out here so long.”

“And you’re not going to tell them, are you.”

“’Course not,” you say cheerfully, squirming against the leather seat a little, still rolling in the afterglow of two intense orgasms.

“There’s a good girl,” Ubbe murmurs, reaching over to pet the back of your head. His big, warm hand comes to rest on the back of your neck and he leaves it there while you finish your cigarettes in blissful silence, thumb stroking softly across the base of your skull until it’s time to go in and pretend none of this ever happened.

 


End file.
